Stupidity and small strawberries
By Jeremy Goodwin

I have always felt that there are no stupid questions, as ignorance is a curable condition, but stupidity is for life. Sometimes it is difficult to hold to that ideal, and I have to remind myself, on many occasions, that education can be very specific. In order to excel in one area, the rest of the panoply of life experience can often pass a person by.

Shopping has become an art, no doubt soon to be offered by a liberal arts college as a major; the cult of personality give Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie hours on the global news services, while the plight of Chilean or Columbian fruit and flower pickers is ignored, as was the resolution of the Oaxacan strike.

Many years ago I was struck speechless by a pretty, young Australian girl, who did not know if eggs were fertilized before or after being laid. I was tempted to demonstrate the essential difference, but a rare attack of prudence prevented any follow through.

In that case it was proved that young and pretty can only make up for a limited amount of dumb, as she dated a friend of mine for the six months necessary to establish that there would have been no hope for their children.

A friend in New York was asked by a crestfallen girl why none of here friends wanted to go shopping as they were all intent on going to see the Dead Sea squirrels, and “What is so special about the Dead Sea squirrels anyway?”.

The most recent was while ferrying some dancers in my car with a classical music station playing on the radio. “What kind of music is this? It sounds like a movie soundtrack,” blurted the bundle of piercings, tattoos and self-perceived cool from the back seat. I was tempted to ask who she thought wrote the music for Amadeus.

I am much more understanding when the questions involve food. I realize that for many people who were raised on fast food and TV dinners, food origins have been obscured by plastic wrap, cans, microwaveable containers and the easy availability of perishables year round through the convenience of global trade.

I do occasionally hit the odd stumbling block. Like when a friend’s wife refused to eat fish I caught myself and cooked the same day, but bought fish we sold from the same trip when it arrived in the supermarket a week later.

I must admit to being entirely flummoxed by the logic of stocking Lean Cuisine for emergency supplies prior to a hurricane, but that is a story for another day.

Regular readers will be familiar with my reference to many of the generally available foodstuffs that originated in the New World, but are now considered staples in cuisines all over the planet. Potatoes, chile peppers, tomatoes and maize are major players in the export market, but there have been some imports worthy of mention and there are a couple of foodstuffs that have been shared longer than the limits of recorded history.

The humble strawberry is this week’s focus, as there is much myth and misinformation attached to one of the most unusual fruits. As a berry, it is the only species to have the seeds on the outside; remarkably it also one of the few fruits to have been distributed throughout the entire northern hemisphere.

Although there are at least 20 different basic species, with the wild varieties found everywhere from the Cherokee hill gardens (strawberry baskets are prized artifacts), through the Alpine meadows of central Europe, to the highlands of India and China, they all share a basic characteristic. That is, they bear little or no resemblance to the bloated, often tasteless, over firm, impossibly large, amorphous red lumps found in most markets.

When I was a child, even before I reached school age, I was entrusted with the cultivation, care and harvesting of a patch of strawberries. Less than 100 square feet yielded a crop large enough for 20 pounds of jam, plus more fresh fruit than we could comfortably consume. The bigger berry varieties were cooked down for preserves, but the tiny, half-inch diameter flavor bombs were reserved for whipped cream desserts. That is, if they survived the youthful picker’s predilection for quality control sampling.

Halfway between the enormous but bland offerings we often see nowadays and the intensely flavored but minute Alpine wild species, there are a number of necessary conditions that determine quality.

The best flavor comes from a plant grown where there are frosted winter days, and the resulting fruit needs to be protected from contact with the ground. Although the most important aspect is that the fruit should not be picked until it separates easily from the stem, leaving a white conical core behind, it is almost impossible to get fruit that ripe in these modern days of shelf life priorities. If you do not grow your own, remember that usually the smaller the fruit, the more intense the flavor.

Except when eating my chocolate covered version, it is best to use a paring knife to remove the white, hard core that would be left on the stalk if you picked a ripe berry.

Returning to the theme at the beginning of this column, when I presented the dish described below, I was asked, “What are these? They look like strawberries, but they are smaller and I have never tasted anything like this before.”


Jeremy Goodwin is an author, freelance food writer and owner of The Best Kept Secret. He may be contacted at Jeremy@dcnet2000.com. 

Macerated Strawberries with Whipped Cream for 4 people

Preparation time is less than five minutes, but you should start a couple of hours early to allow the melding of flavors.

1 lb fresh strawberries, cored and sliced 2 tablespoons brown sugar 2-4 tablespoons orange liqueur or brandy ¼ teaspoon finely ground black pepper ½ cup heavy cream 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 1 tablespoon brown sugar

Citrus zest as a garnish.


With a paring knife, take out the cone of white from the stalk of each berry or cut the tops off more than a quarter inch down the shoulder. Cut the berries into quarters; place in a stainless or ceramic bowl and add the liqueur, sugar and pepper and toss to coat evenly. Cover and leave to stand at room temperature for at least two hours.


Whip the cream and vanilla extract at high speed in a bowl, until the cream holds soft peaks. Add the brown sugar and mix at low speed for 5-10 seconds, sufficient to mix but not dissolve the sugar. This is best done just before serving, but you can do it at the same time as the strawberries and refrigerate.

Zest the grapefruit, orange or lemon just prior to serving.